


antecedent

by MlleMusketeer



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Mentions of Sex, Mentions of kink, Porn as an expression of anxiety, Serious treated crackily, mentions of torture, prowl and optimus find out they're not really the good guys, the IDW Autobots have a lot to answer for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:33:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27789040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MlleMusketeer/pseuds/MlleMusketeer
Summary: The way Prowl became aware of the problem was when he stepped into an interrogation room with a plate of energon goodies and two cubes of sweetened midgrade (balanced precariously on said plate) and as pleasant an expression as he was capable of mustering, and the very low-ranking Decepticon (who was nevertheless part of a very important operation whose purpose Prowl had yet to figure out, hence his personal handling of this debriefing) cuffed to the table burst into terrified tears.Prowl, regardless of reputation, wasn’t a particularly cruel mech, and he hadn’t gone out of his way to cultivate a terrifying reputation (at least not yet). He found this response surprisingly distressing.
Relationships: background Optimus/Megatron
Comments: 15
Kudos: 167





	antecedent

The way Prowl became aware of the problem was when he stepped into an interrogation room with a plate of energon goodies and two cubes of sweetened midgrade (balanced precariously on said plate) and as pleasant an expression as he was capable of mustering, and the very low-ranking Decepticon (who was nevertheless part of a very important operation whose purpose Prowl had yet to figure out, hence his personal handling of this debriefing) cuffed to the table burst into terrified tears.

Prowl, regardless of reputation, wasn’t a particularly cruel mech, and he hadn’t gone out of his way to cultivate a terrifying reputation (at least not yet). He found this response surprisingly distressing. He looked at the plate of goodies. They were standard procedure. You didn’t need force to make most mecha talk. A cube of midgrade and a friendly audial usually did the trick.

Which was why he was trying his best to look pleasant. Prowl was well aware of his own personal failings, and not being able to be the best at whatever he set his hand to was galling, and it was still more galling to see he’d failed so completely at improving what Jazz insisted on calling his ‘resting bitch face’.

“Do what you want,” the mech said, raising his chin and trying to look defiant through his fear-crying, which did not work at all, “but I’m not betraying Megatron to you, no matter what!”

Well that explained at least part of what the mystery operation was going to be, and Prowl’s suspicions were immediately confirmed by the horror on the mech’s face as he realized he had indeed betrayed something.

Prowl pretended to ignore it and hesitated. Then he sighed heavily. “I think you’d better tell me what exactly you think is going to happen here.”

Almost definitely seeing it as a new dimension of torture, the mech did.

Forty-five minutes later, Prowl stormed out of the room and ordered a thorough review of prisoner treatment throughout the Autobot faction.

* * *

The review turned up relatively little. Prowl had handled the part of it that was relevant to the unit holding the prisoner at the time, and also found very little. “They’re just _like that_ , sir,” all the guards said, and one of them also started crying which did nothing for Prowl’s mood whatsoever.

Also, when talking to the mid-ranking prisoners about the same operation, Prowl realized they were _also_ scared sparkless of him but were in most cases better at putting a brave face on it; the first Decepticon had been about two weeks off the assembly line.

This did not make him feel any better.

“Jazz,” he said one evening, reading over the report on the review a third time, “have I missed the fact that _every single Decepticon is scared sparkless of us?”_

Jazz didn’t even look up from the trashy magazine he was perusing. “Yup,” he said, and turned the page.

“Specifically of being taken prisoner?”

“Yup,” Jazz said, and turned the magazine sideways with an admiring expression; it was a Decepticon publication about two shades off outright pornography. “All of ‘em. Cornered Soundwave the other day and he just about ripped his own arm off trying to get away from me. Tore some of his hoses for sure. I heard them go pop. It wasn’t the blaster, it was when I went for the cuffs. He was scared sparkless of capture, not death.”

“Soundwave,” said Prowl, a little blankly. Then he noticed Jazz’s reading material. “Jazz. Why are you reading Decepticon erotica?”

“You learn a lot about a culture through porn,” said Jazz. “People like to fantasize about the forbidden, right? The scariest things. The nightmares. It’s why half this faction wants to fuck aliens.”

“Half the Autobots want to fuck aliens?” said Prowl.

“Mmmhm. I think the other half want to fuck Megatron. Not because they’d _actually_ want to ever be close enough to him to fuck him. He’s terrifying. But that terror hooks into parts of the processor that just processes excitement of any kind, good and bad. Same appeal as horror holos, right? Mix it up with all your horniness and there you go. High octane sexy fuel. What people are scared of shows up in their fantasies. And what the Decepticons are scared of,” he flipped the magazine around and Prowl stared, clamped his optics shut but could still see it imprinted on the insides of his optic covers, and then gave up and just stared again, while Jazz finished smugly, “are Autobot interrogators.”

“They’re not all mnemosurgeons,” said Prowl, and then leaned forward and processed the picture a little better. “Is that supposed to be…”

“You, probably. The doorwings are pretty obvious.”

“I’m not a mnemosurgeon!” said Prowl. “I’m not—putting our _prisoners_ in _collars_ and—is that a whip? What—”

“It’s fantasy,” said Jazz, turning it back around. “You should see the ones they’ve got with the mecha who are obviously supposed to be me.”

“So they’re scared sparkless of us but also what, they’re… they’re…”

“Whacking it to us,” said Jazz. “Yup. Sentient nature, Prowl. If you can’t beat ‘em, beat it _to_ ‘em.”

Though Jazz seemed to assume this was hugely enlightening, Prowl didn’t find it to be so. All he’d really learned was that the Decepticons had a very unrealistic idea of both him and Autobot standard interrogation. He kept stubbornly chasing down the leads on the current operation in person, but he made sure to approach them with a pile of treats that was twice as high. It sort of helped. They were still pretty clearly scared of him.

“But _why?_ ” he asked Optimus one afternoon. Optimus, at least, was equally concerned. Optimus had happened by one of the debriefings, and the Decepticon in question had actually screamed and _hidden under the table._ Optimus had looked like _he_ had been about to cry. “We’ve had what, two cases of actual mistreatment, and both officers were removed from duty, tried, and sentenced for it, we made it _very_ public. And they’re still all terrified of us. And uh.”

Optimus’s audials flattened at that; he’d gotten Jazz’s lecture, too.

“They’re still terrified of us,” said Prowl, getting back onto safer ground.

“Of me,” said Optimus, mournfully. Because of course he’d be mournful of their enemies being terrified of him. “They think I’d mistreat them when they’re helpless.”

“Exactly,” said Prowl. “Why?”

* * *

The answer to _that_ came a few days later. They successfully busted the Decepticon operation, which they still weren’t sure of the purpose of, but they captured Megatron while they were at it. Hanging onto Megatron once they’d captured him wasn’t easy, and was really only made possible because he was deeply unconscious at the time. They ended up basically attaching him securely to a wall via restraints that punched all the way through its two meter thickness and attached on the other side, and they were still pretty worried he’d rip them out. And then they were distracted by Ratchet, who was treating the mecha they’d captured at the same time and was extremely upset when his patients got one look at him and started screaming and also trying to climb the walls, one with the berth he was strapped to still attached to his back. Ratchet was tough and also pretty hardnosed, and his feelings were visibly hurt by the time they’d sedated them.

“Megatron,” said Optimus, stern and intimidating, “why are all your Decepticons so terrified of us?”

Megatron paused in—Prowl realized it about the same time Optimus did—pressing himself back against the wall in an effort to get as far away from the two of them as possible, his massive shoulders all but carving runnels out of the metal, and gave them a look that suggested he was pretty sure his audials were malfunctioning because he’d never heard something so stupid in his entire life.

“Megatron, are _you_ scared of us?” asked Optimus, with blank surprise in his voice.

Megatron bared his dentae at them, but didn’t laugh or say _how ridiculous, Prime_ , and that was answer enough.

“What the frag happened?” Prowl burst out. “What kind of _sick propaganda—“_

“It’s not propaganda if it’s _true_ ,” snarled Megatron.

“What,” said Optimus. “Megatron, we treat our prisoners in accordance with galactic law—“

This time, Megatron did laugh at them. “You’re the successors to the _Functionists_ ,” he said.

* * *

Afterward, Prowl said, “I think we’d better check the Functionist prisoner records.”

They checked the Functionist prisoner records.

Afterward, sitting slumped against a wall together, Optimus said, “I know we saw part of theInstitute but… it wasn’t that bad. It wasn’t _that_ bad.”

Prowl said, “Apparently that was the least horrific part.”

They were silent.

“Prowl,” Optimus said slowly, “We were _cops._ ”

Prowl stared up at the ceiling.

“Prowl,” said Optimus, even more slowly, “we were complicit.”

“Not knowingly,” Prowl said.

“Does it matter?” Optimus said.

They stared at the ceiling some more.

“I’m a cop,” said Prowl. “And you were a cop, and you’re a Prime, and we do still have mnemosurgeons around.”

More silent staring.

The intercom crackled to life. “Sir, Megatron has escaped.”

“Fine,” said Optimus. “We’re busy having a crisis of conscience, Megatron can do whatever.”

Fortunately, he was well out of range of the pickup.

* * *

“What the frag do we do with this, anyway?” asked Optimus much later—several drinks later, in fact.

“We solved the mystery,” said Prowl. “We change policy accordingly, and we carry on.”

Optimus just stared at him and Prowl got the feeling that, as far as Optimus was concerned, he’d missed the point.

“Prowl,” said Optimus slowly. “We’re not the good guys. We need to fix that.”

Prowl took a sip of his cube. “We might not be the good guys but the Decepticons are even less the good guys,” he pointed out.

“Prowl,” said Optimus, sounding even more upset. “We’re not the good guys and we need to _fix that_. The Decepticons might be bad but we’re carrying on an injustice the Functionists started. We really, really need to fix that!”

“How?” asked Prowl. “Is there really any reasonable way to do that?”

Optimus’s mouth set stubbornly. “We’ll find out.”

* * *

Which, it turned out, meant _I’ll do something really stupid._

In this case, Optimus kidnapped Megatron. It wasn’t clear who was most startled: Optimus, Megatron, or Prowl, when he stepped into one of the holding cells to find Megatron tied to the wall again next to the big holes he’d ripped out of it two days ago.

“What are you doing,” Prowl said.

“We’re talking,” said Optimus. “We’re talking about what the Autobots are going to do so we don’t just step into the Functionists’ place.”

Prowl found himself sitting abruptly in one of the chairs. “And you’re consulting _him?!”_

“I think we’re all too blinded by our existing prejudices to be making this decision on our own,” said Optimus.

“Don’t look at me,” Megatron grumbled. “The only suggestion I’ve made so far is the lot of you should throw yourselves into the nearest star. And then he told me to _take this seriously._ If you want to take this seriously, Optimus, you should arrange to be the one captured for once.”

Optimus brightened up significantly while Prowl put his face into both hands and groaned loudly. So when Optimus got his stupid aft captured two weeks later, it didn’t provoke the usual kind of alarm it should have. Prowl just sighed heavily and started putting together a rescue team just in case.

“Before you ask,” Jazz said, “Optimus is definitely in the _wanting to fuck Megatron_ camp.”

“I noticed,” said Prowl. “Jazz, were you aware of the Functionist connection?”

Jazz flared his visor at him, the equivalent of a startled blink. “I thought it was pretty obvious, mech. I mean, we’re not the Functionists but we are using an awful lot of their stuff.”

“And you didn’t tell Optimus?”

“I thought we had bigger things to worry about,” said Jazz, a little defensively.

“I think they’re negotiating peace terms because Optimus figured out the Functionist thing,” said Prowl, morose.

“Huh,” said Jazz. “I doubt that’ll be enough, but that’s… nice? I guess? It’ll take some doing. Maybe the fact we’ve been making porn of each other for the entire war will help a little, but that _is_ all fantasy. The fear, however, is very real.”

“I don’t know what we’d do without your input, Jazz,” said Prowl. “Let’s go get Optimus back.”

* * *

It turned out Optimus didn’t really want to come back, and also they were both completely right about him wanting to fuck Megatron. They left them to it (with respectful nods to the Decepticons who were also awkwardly leaving them to it, too).

“Huh,” said Jazz. “So acknowledging that their concerns were legitimate did the trick. Good to know.”

Prowl thought about that for a bit. The Decepticons had been quite right to be afraid of capture. He still felt a crawling kind of guilt about his role in the whole mess the Functionist government had been. He couldn’t say he was exactly surprised to learn that the war was even more complicated than he’d thought, and he would have been perfectly happy to keep fighting after the revelation of their complicity in Functionist cruelty, because so what if there were more shades of gray than he’d thought? The Decepticons were still tearing the planet apart. A bad history didn’t excuse the crime.

Thank Primus for Optimus’s moral crisis, apparently. All of Prowl’s vicious strategies were melting away from between his claws. They might not even be necessary. That, at least, was a good thing.

And all because Optimus had felt bad about crimes that weren’t even his.

There was just no accounting for people sometimes.

**Author's Note:**

> btw the whole 'people are more likely to tell you what you want to know if you're nice to them than if you torture them' is quite real and broadly supported by history.


End file.
